They leaned the tree up against the house and went inside, where the two wood stoves were furiously pumping heat through the old house. They made coffee in the dented percolator and got out fresh oatmeal muffins.
Last week, Barky had left for Hungary—to still the walking ghosts, he’d said. He didn’t know when he’d be back. Yesterday, Evan Parrington had called to arrange to have them join him and J. Land Crockett’s attorneys in New York the following week. Crockett, it seemed, was taking steps to make Ashley and David his legal heirs.
“It already looks as though the bulk of his daughter’s estate will come to you,” he’d explained. “We’re discussing enormous amounts of money, I hope you realize. I want you to understand precisely what we’re doing. You should have some say in this.”
Ashley had been stunned. As far as she was concerned, she had enough money. Too much. And David agreed with her.
“It’s no use, Ash,” he said now, seated across from her at the big pine table. He was eating a muffin slathered with apple butter. He had made it from some of the applesauce he and Sarah Balaton had made. Sarah, shattered by what her father was, had left Badger Rock Island without speaking to anyone. From Lillian Parker, David and Ashley had learned she had quit the vice presidency of Crockett Industries and moved to Seattle. Whatever might have been between her and David was over now. Looking at his sister, David sighed. He seemed so much older. “We can’t sit here and pretend everything’s normal.”
“I know.”
“And Crockett. I can’t even spend all the money I’ve got—what the hell would we do with more millions, Ash?”
She shook her head, saying nothing.
“I’ve been thinking,” David went on.
She smiled. “That’s a switch.”
“Asshole.”
They grinned at each other. The wounds were healing, Ashley thought. David was still the same brother she’d always had. “Go ahead,” she said. “What were you thinking?”
He leaned back. “I figure I ought to fly down to Texas and have a talk with old man Crockett.”
* * *
David left the next morning. It was colder than he expected in Houston, and he was annoyed as hell when a limousine arrived to take him out to the ranch. He sat up front and asked the chauffeur if he’d be seeing any tumbleweed. The chauffeur looked at him as if he were some kind of lunatic, and hardly said a word the entire two-hour trip.
The ranch was a hell of a spread: endless fields, white fences, gardens, roads, a huge low-slung house and no tumbleweed. He found the old man out back in a stone stable with the horses. “Hey, Pops,” David said.
J. Land Crockett glanced up, looking mildly offended.
David grinned. “Nice place you got here.”
“Thank you.”
“Land interests me.”
“Does it?” The old man moved away from a stall. “My father’s father had a shack on this property in the last century. When my father struck oil on Spindletop, he bought up as much land around the shack as he could.” He looked at his grandson with steely black-blue eyes. “It’s always saddened me to think this place would no longer be in the Crockett family when I die.”
“What you need, old man, is family, not money.”
Crockett looked amused, and touched. “You think so?”
“Damn right. Land and family—what the hell else is there?”
“Nothing of any meaning,” J. Land Crockett said quietly. “Is that what you came here to tell me?”
“Nope. Came here to tell you to shove your billions.”
Crockett looked stricken.
David went over to his grandfather and clapped him on the shoulder. He breathed in the musty smell of the barn and was suddenly glad he’d come. “But this place... Would you mind showing me around?”
* * *
Ashley set the Christmas tree in the window overlooking the front yard, away from the potbelly stove, and she got the old cloth suitcase of decorations down out of the attic and decorated the tree herself. David was in Texas with J. Land Crockett. Barky was in Hungary. She’d had a card from him, saying he’d stolen the Balaton jewels from her and David and was donating them to the new museum at Balaton Castle. Ashley had laughed. That, at least, had seemed right. Lately so little did.
Touchstone Communications was rolling merrily along, with or without her. The New England Oceanographic Institute had come out with a report stating that the new wing was a resounding, astounding success and they all, but especially Ashley, were to be congratulated. Since she’d missed the deadline, someone else had written her column for Currents, saying exactly what she’d wanted to say, only better.
There was a sense of completion about her life that hadn’t been there before. And also of emptiness.
Outside, snow had begun to fall. She put Mitch Miller’s Christmas carols on Barky’s old record player and sang “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” while she placed cheap ornaments on the fresh tree and watched the snow and cried.
She was getting sentimental....
She’d been invited to dozens of Christmas parties. There were literally hundreds of places to go, thousands of people who would love to have the dolphin-rescuing, hot-shit mystery daughter of Judith Land over to see them.
She thought of warmth. She thought of family and love and happiness. David had already called: he and J. Land Crockett were getting along famously, already plotting ways to improve the ranch.
David was in Texas. Barky was in Hungary. Mac Stevens—my father—was in San Diego.
And so was Jeremy. What was he?
The man she loved.
They were both in San Diego, and suddenly she couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing them. She didn’t know if either of them would want to see her. Perhaps they’d forgotten those crazy days in October...or wanted to forget.
But she had to try. She had to know.
* * *
When he got home from work on Christmas Eve and walked out onto his deck, Jeremy’s heart skipped several beats, and he had to stop himself from lurching forward, grabbing her. He was afraid she would prove to be only thin air, a vision.
She was wearing one of her jumpsuits, a short one, bright fuchsia. And she was barefoot. A slender leg was thrown over one arm of the deck chair, and her hair was shining in the afternoon sun. She’d cut it to shoulder length; it made her look even sassier.
Papers, maps and charts were strewn all over his table.
“Ashley.” It was just a breath.
But she turned sideways and smiled up at him. Her eyes were even brighter, more vivid than he remembered. He felt a stirring of a deep, familiar passion. She was so sexy. His life had been empty without her.
“Hello, Jeremy,” she said, still smiling. “I stole some o.j. out of your fridge.”
“What are you doing here?”
She shrugged. “Studying charts.”
Charts. “Why?”
“I’ve decided to fund a research project on marine archaeology in the Pacific. There must be some interesting ships sunk around here—something. Anyway, my friend Nelle Milligan’s thrilled.”
He couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. Were they just friends? Didn’t she know what she was doing to him? He moved toward her. “Is this an institute project?”
She shook her head. “A new outfit.”
“Oh. I—”
“Based in San Diego. We’re calling it the Crockett Foundation. I’m supposed to be chairman of the board and president. It’ll mean relocating to the West Coast, but what the hell, I could use a change.” She pulled her lips together and nodded decisively. “I’m selling Touchstone. Caroline’s buying it.”
He wanted to jump up and yell, but she was acting so funny. Why? What was on her mind? He said cautiously, “Why San Diego?”
This time when she looked at him, he saw the fear in her eyes. “Because you’re here.”
He grinned as the relief and joy washed over him. “That’s all I need to he
ar.”
The fear vanished in her eyes, leaving only the brightness. “Is it? Don’t you want to hear that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you?”
“Not hopelessly, Ashley.”
It was all he could bring himself to say. They ran to each other then and clung together in the fading sunlight. Nothing had ever felt so right to him, Jeremy thought. She was strong willed and direct and argumentative...and so was he.
“We’ll make a hell of a pair,” he said.
“We will.” She laughed into his eyes. “We’re both blunt and cantankerous. You don’t want me for my money, do you?”
“It’s the only strike against you.”
“But can you live with it?”
He laughed. “I can handle it.”
She held his hands and stood back from him, just looking at him and smiling. “Well. I think I’m going to like San Diego.”
“I’d come to Boston.”
“I know you would. But I’m looking forward to the change. It’ll be good. No one really knows me here, and with the new foundation...there’s so much work to be done.”
There wasn’t even the slightest question in her eyes that he would—or should—mind that she was a compulsive worker. He liked that. He grinned at her. “Do you suppose you can break for Christmas?”
“Oh, longer than that. It’ll take months to work out all the details for the foundation. I’m just thinking and planning.”
“Does that mean you’re free for dinner?” he asked, pulling her toward him.
“Yes, but if you already have plans—”
“I can include you in them.” His arms encircled her waist, and he smelled the light scent of her. “You’re wonderful. I love you.”
She kissed him lightly. “Good.”
“I’m supposed to be at the annual family Christmas Eve dinner in thirty minutes. Think you can be ready?”
“Jeremy—”
“It’s all right.” He held her tightly and was unable to understand how he had tolerated the bleak weeks without her. “My father’s dying to meet you, and you’ll love my mother. I’ll call and have them set an extra place.”
“You’re sure they won’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
“It’ll be just family?”
“Us and the Stevenses. We get together every year.” He saw the cloud come over her face. “Ashley, it’s all right. Mac wants to see you.”
She looked pained. “But after everything that’s happened...I wouldn’t want to spoil his Christmas. And Elaine—”
“Ashley—good God. Every day Mac asks if I’ve heard from you. Every day I see the pain in him, the longing just to know you. And Elaine—she knows you and David are a part of Mac, and she’s too secure in her love for him and too sure of herself to be threatened by you.” Jeremy sighed, wanting desperately to make her understand. “Ashley...they want to know you.”
The cloud vanished, and she couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Give me a few minutes to get ready.”
* * *
On Christmas morning, Mac stopped by the little house in Coronado. Ashley had put away her maps and her charts and her papers and was having a late brunch with Jeremy on the deck. They hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. It was a wonderful Christmas, she thought. She had never been so happy.
When he saw Mac, Jeremy made an excuse to go inside, leaving them alone. Mac sat across from Ashley.
For a man so strong and intelligent and handsome, he seemed awkward and ill at ease.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” He cleared his throat then, and from inside his jacket pocket he withdrew a small unwrapped case and handed it to her. “I want you to have this.”
She opened it. Inside was a cameo brooch, simple, beautiful. She couldn’t speak. Looking at MacGregor Stevens, she saw the slight but distinct tremble in his hands.
“It...it was my mother’s,” he said. “Your grandmother’s. I had planned to give it to your mother. Somehow it seemed wrong, after she died, to give it to Elaine. I want you to have it.”
Tears welled in Ashley’s eyes, and she had to lay the case in her lap. Her hands were shaking. She looked up at MacGregor Stevens. “Thank you...Father.”
Epilogue
Bartholomew Wakefield didn’t return from Hungary until late that winter. The moment he arrived, he walked up to the barn and looked out across the snow-covered fields. Hungary was a different country now. This place was home. He could tell Iggy had been minding the farm: nothing was as clean as it should be. But that would change in time. He was back now.
Soon there would be planting to do, he thought. Spring would come.
He had talked to Ashley and David from Budapest, telling them he thought it was good they had separated from the farm. They were adults now; they had their own lives to lead. His faith in them remained firm. Ashley would be marrying Jeremy Carruthers in May, in the side yard, she’d said, when the apple trees were in blossom. That was good, Barky thought. And she wanted him to stand on one side of her and MacGregor Stevens on the other. That had touched him, and for the first time in many years, he had let the tears stream down his leathery old cheeks.
And David. David had his land. In time, he would find love...and if he were smart, he would recognize it when it came. And seize it. And never let go. That was David. He wouldn’t let happiness slip through his fingers.
Not like the man who had raised him had, so long ago.
But that was all right, he thought. He had his chickens, his pigs, his sheep, his fields. There was always work to be done.
As he turned back to the house, he noticed the thin line of pale gray smoke coming from the chimney, and he swore to himself. Iggy was irresponsible; he’d gone off and left the fire in the wood stove burning. Shaking his head in disgust, Barky stumped down to the house.
But there was a woman in his kitchen. She was wearing one of his sweaters, the shoulder seams drooping halfway to her elbows, and expensive corduroy pants, but her eyes were as clear and turquoise as he remembered.
“Lillian.” The door shut hard behind him and he found that he couldn’t move. His voice caught. “Lil.”
She was standing over the cook stove, and she turned and smiled nervously at him, as she had thirty years ago in the old stone church, only now there were lines in her face, around her eyes, but her hair was still that arresting shade of auburn. He had dreamed about it many times over the years.
“I’m baking beans,” she said.
He smiled. “You are.”
“Indeed. My grandmother once taught me how—it was the only thing she knew how to cook—and I’ve never forgotten, since it’s the only thing I know how to cook. How do they smell?”
“Burned.”
She laughed. “Well, it’s all because of this wood stove. I’m not a pioneer, you know.”
The smile left Barky’s worn face. “Lillian...why are you here?”
She laid her wooden spoon on the pine table. “I’m on leave from my job,” she said quietly, not looking at him. “I rode out the scandal...sort of. All these years, I thought the whole world would laugh their asses off if they knew what I’d done. As it turns out, people have been pretty understanding. But, of course, I’m part of a major story now—and I’m being stubborn and making enemies because I still refuse to discuss Judith Land. So it seemed best just to leave. I don’t know what I’ll tackle next. Maybe pigs and chickens?” She looked at him now. “For a while, anyway.”
There was uncertainty in her eyes, he saw. And then, as he laughed and walked to her, there was hope.
About the Author
Carla Neggers is the New York Times bestselling author of the Sharpe & Donovan series featuring Boston-based FBI agents Emma Sharpe and Colin Donovan, and the popular Swift River Valley series set in the small, fictional New England town of Knights Bridge. With many bestsellers to her credit, Carla loves to write now as much as she did when she
climbed a tree at age eleven with a pad and pen and spun stories perched on her favorite branch.
* * *
A native New Englander, Carla and her husband divide their time between their hilltop home in Vermont, a sofa bed at their kids' places in Boston and various inns, hotels and hideaways on their travels, frequently to Ireland.
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